fearfully startle me. None are so capable of judging rightly in so delicate a situation as those who are placed in it." She would not perceive that she was the last person in the world who could take a clear view of the question.

She had written accordingly to Vaughan, merely announcing her father's arrival as an unexpected and welcome event. Her pride would not permit her once allude to the hopes with which they had parted,-hopes which were all to have been crowned by this event, and which then, touched with the colours of her brilliant and noble mind, presented a prospect of felicity almost too bright to be indulged. "No," she reasoned; "to renew promises made before suspicion came would be to solicit a similar reply. True or false, he cannot be ignorant of the reports respecting him. If he detect unusual coldness in my style, he will attribute it to natural and just displeasure; if innocent, he will hasten to refute the calumny of which he is the victim; my father's fortune and benevolence of heart have now removed every other obstable to our union,-for his consent he will not fear to sue, and to me he will address the language of an unchanged affection and an honourable heart." Satisfied with the wisdom of her resolve, and secure that it would be the means of bringing her

fate to a crisis, Catherine became gradually more composed; and when Mrs. Vaughan entered, just as she had sealed the fatal letter, no traces of her former agitation were visible.

"Well, my love," said her friend, "you have had, I perceive, a long conference with your father, and I will venture to hope, from all that I have seen of him, that the issue has been favourable."

"He is the kindest of human beings," replied Catherine.

"Shall I then write to Francis on the subject immediately, as you once wished me to do," said Mrs. Vaughan, doubtfully,-for she was not quite satisfied with the grave tone in which the reply was uttered.

"I have myself written," said Catherine, putting at the same time the letter into her hands. Mrs. Vaughan took it eagerly, but instantly laid it down in evident disappointment. It was sealed; the address alone was intended to meet her eye; and this palpable want of confidence, on a subject so near her heart, deeply disconcerted her. “You tell me good news, Catherine," she said, "but not with the voice of one who has happy tidings to communicate."

"The answer to this letter will either confirm my suspicions, or set them at rest for

ever. Till it is received, I dare not permit myself to hope."

"I scarcely dare advise," said her friend, gravely, "ignorant as I am of the plan which you have adopted; but let me entreat you to consider, before you make a final decision; let not this letter be rashly despatched. Beware how you suffer suspicion to creep into your style; this would be the first step towards sorrow and unavailing bitterness. The happiness of your whole life may possibly be ventured on a single throw of the die."Catherine sighed, and answered nothing.

Mrs. Vaughan would herself have adopted the natural expedient of writing to Francis ; but in a second visit of Mordaunt's, he had made an earnest request of her not to speak to her son of the report which had reached her ears. "I cannot bear," argued the penitent Mordaunt, "that my folly should be set down as a decided breach of confidence." She had promised, and her lips were closed.

CHAPTER VIII.

I cry content to that which grieves my heart,
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions.

Shakspeare.

PHILIP COURTNEY, flattering himself that he now left matters in train for the rapid accomplishment of his most favourite scheme, began to reflect that it would not be unwise to take advantage of the interval to attend to his interests at Halston Hall. He left Catherine to grow pale and passionate over the memory of her insulted love, and tasked his invention, as he pursued his journey, to crush his rival in his last resource.

Truth and falsehood, cleverly combined, form the most effective mixture of delusion; and Courtney had the expertness of practice and the zeal of interest.

"Glad to see you, sir," said old Sarah, with her usual form of salutation, when Courtney reached his uncle's door; and, to do her justice, she spoke with all sincerity,for she loved visitors, and she loved money, and Courtney knew the full policy of purchasing golden opinions.

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To his inquiries after her master's health, an ominous shake of the head was the first reply. Breaking fast, Sir," she exclaimed, "far gone indeed, as you will think when you see him; he scarcely ever quits his chamber; he talks often of young Mr. Vaughan, and seems to miss him; but he has seen his last of him in this wicked world." And Sarah tried to weep.

"Now then, or never," thought Philip, as he ascended the stairs; "a desperate push may redeem all.”

The chamber door opened, and his uncle's wan and wasted countenance met his almost shrinking gaze. The old man was seated in his arm-chair, supported by pillows. He made no attempt to rise, but motioned with his shrivelled hand for Philip to be seated. The sight of mortality arrived at the last stage of existence, joyless, helpless, and decrepid, struck chilly even upon Courtney's elastic and worldly mind. His purposes, stern and selfish, were hushed, and his guard ian angel might then have taught him the folly, the madness, of plunging into deceit and guilt to secure the inheritance of that paltry wealth which had so little power of securing the man before him from helplessness and the grave. "Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come,"